From Russia With Love
by WhiteWings9
Summary: The erotic adventures of Alfred F. Jones, young porn star in the making and the king of bottoms. Porn!AU.
1. Here Cums The President

**From Russia With Love  
Chapter 1 – Here Cums the President**

Alfred was fifteen or sixteen when he ran up to his school friends and announced, loudly, "Look what I can do!" He then proceeded to stuff a sausage roll down his throat whole, holding his head back in aid of his feat, to the smirks and laughter of the crowd he had gathered.

Five years later he was knelt on the rich carpet of the Oval Office deep-throating the President of the United States.

Well, okay, it wasn't really the President. Just Arthur, Arthur Kirkland in a sharp suit and his best drawling accent (unplaceable but definitely American), murmuring encouragements like "Yes!" and "That's it!" The Oval Office was a stage set. A film crew surrounds them, silent voyeurs in the shadowed periphery of the studio, and the rolling camera fixed to them with its unblinkingly red pinprick eye.

"I'm going to come!" Arthur cried hoarsely, breaking out of his carefully constructed accent, and the camera glided into position, closing in for the money shot as Arthur pulled out of Alfred's sweet, sweet mouth and ejaculated.

Alfred kept his mouth open and caught as much as he could on his tongue. But most of the cum streaked his face and his prop spectacles in thick, creamy ropes, and Arthur milked himself deliberately to miss. He hoped not too much of it got into his hair. The camera tracked in for the final close-up before the director called for a cut.

"Aaaaand that's a wrap! Good job, boys."

One of the crew rushed in with a wet towel to Alfred as the studio broke into a general frenzy of packing up, eager to go home.

"You got it in my hair!" Alfred complained, snatching the towel from the crew member and scrubbing furiously at his head, shoving the dirty spectacles into the crew member's hand. The crew member held it gingerly in front of himself and hurried off.

Arthur was being fussed over by another crew member with a Styrofoam cup of tea, and he swept Alfred with a haughty look.

"You missed a spot," he said, tapping his own chin. When Alfred tried to wipe it off on the wrong side, Arthur made an impatient noise, thumbed it off for him, and stuck the digit into his own mouth.

* * *

"Shakespeare thinks his own jizz tastes of fricking candy or something!" Alfred grumbled to himself as he shampooed his hair with savaged thoroughness. He rinsed off the suds, combed his fingers through every strand of his hair, and glowered at the wall separating his shower stall from Arthur's.

He was in a more forgiving mood once he finished. He could never stay mad at Arthur for long.

The actors dried and dressed themselves in silence. Usually Alfred would be trying to make friendly conversation and Arthur would ignore or rebuff his advances, but today they were too tired to speak. Alfred noticed that Arthur was putting some effort into his appearance this evening – a nice black-with-white-striped shirt, top buttons artfully undone, and even a spray of cologne.

"Got a date?" Alfred asked, winking. Arthur cast him a narrow sidelong glance.

"No, an audition," he said in clipped tones and shut his locker with a clang. "Good evening."

_Man he's so uptight_, Alfred thought as Arthur left the room. _Nice cock though_.

* * *

"So to put it simply, Alfred, we're assigning you with a new talent."

Alfred paused mid-chew and stared at his agent, Elizaveta Hedervary.

"What? What happened to Arthur?"

"Please don't talk with your mouth full," Elizaveta chided. Alfred swallowed his mouthful of burger and stuffed in some fries. "Also watch your weight."

"I work out, I'm not fat," Alfred said defensively.

_He does indeed work out_, Elizaveta thought dreamily. His chest was visibly toned under his simple cotton shirt and the muscles of his forearms bulged with weight lifts but not too much. He used to be in the football team in high school, he told anyone who would listen, and many people did, mesmerized by his easy charm and all-American good looks.

"Yes, well, in answer to your question, if you had been listening to me you would have heard me say that we are participating in a talent swap with another agency. They wanted Arthur, and the guy they're sending is supposed to be the best they have. So I want you to meet him sometime today, get to know each other."

Alfred felt his heart sink. Sure Arthur could be a real jerk at times, but he was the best partner he had ever had. He never made him uncomfortable or tried anything funny on- or off-camera. Also his skill at accents was pretty cool.

Damn, is he getting attached to that stuck-up big-eyebrowed grump?

"Right, yeah, okay," he mumbled.

"Good. You didn't have a choice in the matter anyway. I've asked him to meet you here in, oh, five minutes. Well, goodbye!"

"Wait, you're just going to leave me to meet some strange guy alone?"

But she was already walking out of McDonald's, and he was left gaping noiselessly after her.

He slumped back in his chair, pulling the script over to flip through whilst he waited for the mystery new talent. The scriptwriter had gone gleefully overboard again, writing detailed Hollywood scenes for a spy thriller involving dramatic car chases and exploding helicopters. His agent had already drawn a line across the exploding helicopter and pencilled a firm "NO" in the margins.

The title? _The Spy Who Fucked My Brains Out_.

"Classy," said a deep, slightly accented voice from behind him.

Alfred leapt from his seat. "This isn't mine!" he cried, laughing nervously and dropping the script with the title face down. He managed to upturn his soft drink as he did and the lid split open, flooding the table with cola and ice cubes.

"Oh fuck fuck _fuck_!" he cursed loud enough to draw disapproving glares from parents with fat children as he fished the sodden script desperately out of the black sticky pool.

"Don't worry, I'll share my copy with you."

"You'll what?"

"You're Alfred Jones, right? I'm Ivan, your new partner. Nice to meet you."

* * *

Ivan Braginski towered over him at 6'3. He was a great bear of a man with wide shoulders, a large hooked nose, and the most vivid violet eyes which he complimented with a light violet scarf. He was unbuttoning his grey double-breasted pea coat as he sat opposite Alfred at a clean table.

"So Ivan," Alfred began.

Ivan raised a black leather-gloved hand to stop him.

"My name is pronounced 'ee-vahn', not 'eye-van'."

"So Eye-Van," Alfred repeated stubbornly. Ivan raised an eyebrow but made no comment. "You're the spy who's going to fuck my brains out, then?"

Ivan cast a glance around to see if anyone had overheard. A shocked mother holding a toddler told him that she had.

"Da, comrade," he whispered with an exaggerated version of his accent.

The young mother looked absolutely scandalised. She scooted out of her seat and left clutching her child to her chest, nose upturned.

"You don't look scary enough for the role."

Ivan smiled. The young American was kind.

"We shall see," he said pleasantly.

He swiped ketchup from the corner of Alfred's mouth with his thumb and stuck the digit into his own mouth.


	2. The Spy Who Fucked My Brains Out

**From Russia With Love  
Chapter 2 – The Spy Who Fucked My Brains Out**

Everyone Alfred knew in the business told him they were only doing it for the money; money to pay the bills with or tuition fees, or just to spend on something nice. Everyone had to eat, right? This was just a job, paid relatively well, nothing to be proud of but nothing to be ashamed of either. Whenever the topic came up, Alfred found himself nodding and adding similar noises of his own.

Yeah, he was in it for the easy money too, to help with textbook costs and fund his drinking sessions with college buddies. It beats stacking shelves or flipping burgers, he would add emphatically. Also he was saving up for a car maybe. What car was he planning to get? Hmm, he was not decided yet.

He was never completely truthful whenever that topic came up.

* * *

The truth was he liked what he was doing. He was good at it – he gave the best blowjobs around, no shit – and he enjoyed the attention it brought him. He liked going up against someone experienced and have them melt over him, liked that there was a crew watching and filming every dirty little deed. And the idea of countless people getting off on his performance sent the most delicious thrill tumbling down his spine. The money was just a nice bonus, really.

He supposed the only person who ever came close to sharing his sentiments was Elizaveta.

"So, how was he?" she asked, beaming a little too innocently, as he walked into the agency.

"Who?"

"The talent we swapped Arthur for! I had you meet him the other day."

Oh right, yeah. That Ivan guy.

"He's okay," Alfred shrugged. "Kinda big," he added.

Elizaveta was all ears.

"I haven't seen him yet, but the both of you are scheduled for a shoot this afternoon so I guess I can drop in and say hi, bring coffee and snacks. What d'you say?"

Her eyes were sparkling. There was no stopping her.

"Uhh… sure?"

"Great, I'll see you there!"

Elizaveta spun out of the room, practically swooning. As he suspected, she loved her job.

* * *

All Alfred knew about Ivan was that he was big, smiled a lot, and had almost no experience with men.

"There was one man," he said uncertainly when Alfred asked.

"So besides him you had no-one else? You must be pretty nervous, huh? Well no worries, I got your back! I'll show you the ropes."

Ivan had given him another one of his smiles that made him look kinda dorky.

They were in the studio perusing their script, being fussed over by a hair and makeup artist. Well, that was her official title, anyway. One thing Alfred learnt on the job was that the porn industry tended to hire the cheapest available staff, and that usually meant apprentices looking for experience, if you were lucky, or any old person claiming to know what they were doing for a quick buck.

_This one seems to know what she's doing though_, Alfred thought approvingly as he admired himself in the vanity mirror she held up for him.

"Okay let's get started!" the director shouted with a clap of his hands.

The crew cleared off the set and Alfred settled under the sheets of the bed they had designed to look like the one at the end of _The Spy Who Loved Me_, the one in some kind of a pod submarine. He felt Ivan slide an arm behind his back and started. Ivan smiled pleasantly back.

"Scene six take one, action!"

The clapperboard snapped shut and Ivan was kissing him. He wasn't a bad kisser, Alfred vaguely noted, as their lips worked long, passionate kisses of two spies consummating their illicit passion. Ivan's lips tasted of the strawberry lip balm the makeup artist had applied, and they moved and melded to his with easy experience, nibbling his bottom lip, slipping in his tongue…

Okay, wow, he was good. Real good.

The scene unfolded smoothly to script. The slow body worship Ivan performed was heaven and Alfred almost forgot himself, his every nerve taut as Ivan worked down his chest and belly with tongue and lips licking, nipping, kissing; skilful hands trailing fingers that rubbed, pinched and rolled his dusky nipples, alternating between gentle and hard, teasing.

He was fairly erect when Ivan got to his cock. He was cut so his glans was exposed, and he had recently waxed so his crotch was smooth and hairless. He watched with a half-glazed avidness as Ivan aligned his own impressively-sized cock to his and _stroked_ – a hitch of breath. Ivan stroked them together once more and Alfred almost – _almost_ – gasped.

Before they could move on, the director called for a pause and had a photographer take a few still shots. The stills were largely for the DVD covers. They paused several times afterwards for more stills, a couple of snaps for each new position just before Ivan put it in.

"Splendid, splendid! Now look sexy for us now, Jones, that's it…"

Alfred never usually minded this part of the job. He quite enjoyed preening for the camera, actually. But for some reason it was grating on his patience this time – he kept glancing anxiously at Ivan as they posed together – and struggled to look relaxed and seductive for the camera.

After a quick touch-up to their makeups, Alfred was handed some lubricant with which to prepare himself. He poured a generous quantity onto his palm and rubbed it in, coating his fingers liberally. Gently, carefully, he pushed them inside himself and worked expertly, stretching himself as thoroughly as he could with one eye on Ivan's cock. That was going to have to fit inside of him. Without realising it his free hand had wandered idly from where it held his thigh apart to massage his own erection.

He was looking down as he worked himself, and did not notice how intently Ivan was watching him. There was no trace left of the simple, pleasant expression he usually wore. His eyes were dark with lust, and the curve of his lips was not his usual absent-minded smile but a conscious, knowing smirk. His smirk widened as Alfred looked up with pleasure-hazed eyes, lips invitingly parted.

"Boys, are we set? Okay everyone to their stations, come on!"

The lubricant was taken away and a condom pressed into Ivan's hand which he tore open – the wrapper was cleared away – and rolled it slowly onto his erection.

"Scene seven take one, action!"

* * *

Elizaveta was late for the start of the shoot. A staff let her into the studio, balancing a tray of coffees and pastries from Dunkin Donuts, just as the camera began rolling for the sex scene in earnest. Glad to have made it in time after all, she dropped her things onto a table and snuck closer to watch her favourite talent at work, not quite realising that she was going to catch him giving the performance of his life.

* * *

The first thrust was taken slow and with some interruption from the cameraman and photographer both wanting a close-up shot. They were starting off with a simple missionary position; Alfred lay back in the pillows and held his legs spread as Ivan guided himself to penetrate him. His cock met little resistance, pushing in easily through Alfred's lubricated muscles.

"Whoa, you're big," Alfred breathed, grinning.

Ivan smiled as if to say, _I know_.

"Whenever you're set," the director said, signalling for them to go.

And they went.

Ivan began thrusting, slowly at first and concentrating on getting it right, getting Alfred hot. Alfred did his part and angled the lower half of his body to meet Ivan's thrusts with his own. Whenever he felt Ivan brush close to his prostate, his muscles clenched (not entirely involuntarily) to reward and encourage him. Ivan's hands gripped the back of Alfred's knees and pushed his legs further apart, determined to find the spot that will undo his partner.

"Oh!"

He knew he had found it in the way Alfred shuddered and tightened his muscles. Smiling, he increased the speed of his pace, hitting the spot that made Alfred gasp again and again, watching his blue, blue eyes widen first with delight then with some alarm, and the way his cherry mouth gaped then bit down his bottom lip to keep from moaning.

Shortly, the director called for a cut and told them to switch positions.

* * *

Alfred's knees trembled to support his weight as Ivan fucked him from below, large hands holding him by the hips and digging in bruising fingers, dragging him down to meet his thrusts. Each thrust was hitting his prostrate true and Alfred felt himself driven wild; his breaths were coming out in short shallow pants, and he was quite forgetting where he was or what he was doing.

No, he was not conscious of the eyes on him nor of the keening sound he was making deep in his throat. All he was aware of was the rhythm Ivan had set, and the pleasure that shot up his spine each time he came down and buried that delicious cock up his ass.

* * *

Ivan liked that he could run his tongue along the side of Alfred's neck in this position. They were both kneeling on the bed, the camera set dead in front of them as he fucked Alfred from behind, holding his head back by his soft blond hair and exposing his bobbing Adam's apple.

"Oh god!" Alfred cried as Ivan bit into where his shoulder met his neck.

_What a delightful sound the young American makes_, he thought as he kissed the teeth marks left on the beach-tanned flesh. _What a delightful young American_.

* * *

It was with relief when he came at last, spilling his hot seeds over the plains of his stomach and Ivan's grasping hand. He flopped back into the pillows and threw an arm across his eyes, gasping desperately for air.

Ivan drew out of him still hard, admiring Alfred's twitching hole. At the director's indication, he took off the condom and finished himself by hand, coming over Alfred's buttocks for the money shot.


End file.
